


my pride dies with you

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, featuring jordan’s taylor hall centred misery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Crosby has lips that are pretty and pink and soften his features into something beautiful.Taylor had lips just like him.





	my pride dies with you

**Author's Note:**

> yeahhhhh so. this was a completely random intrusive thought

Between the two of them, Jordan likes to think he’s got at least some inkling of dignity left. Somewhere there. 

Between them, when Crosby’s hands are tight on his shoulders and his head is thrown back and all Jordan can really focus on is that long line of his neck. When the whispers between them vary from, “do you have a condom,” to, “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” and never pass over to territory that shouldn’t be touched - Jordan can relish in the fact that he’s got some of his dignity intact. 

Maybe it’s wrong, to not only want this but take it. Jordan’s old enough to be able to admit that to himself and to think, that just means he should be old enough to keep from doing this. Over and over and over, because it hasn’t been long that they’ve been doing it, but Jordan can’t find himself letting go. Which. _Fuck_ , it’ll only get worse. He knows that much, at least. 

+

Jordan came to New York with the excitement of starting over. He came to New York with the hopefulness of playing for a new club. He came to New York with a fanbase that actually wants him. 

Jordan came to New York without Taylor Hall and that might’ve been what locked all of this into place. 

Because when it came to the distance between them, playing for different teams, with a relationship that’d already been on the rocks when they were both in Edmonton, it was only a matter of time until things hit the fan. 

_They_ hit the fan, as a fucking collective, and Jordan pretends he doesn’t constantly think about it. Pretends he isn’t still wound up in Taylor, but there’s a lot to be wound in. 

+

Crosby has lips that are pretty and pink and soften his features into something beautiful. If Jordan could let himself think about Crosby like that, he would, but. 

Taylor had lips just like him, when Jordan thought he could spend ages kissing him drowsily as they fell asleep in bed pressed together. His thumb would always be pressed to Taylor’s chin, to swipe over the redness whenever they broke apart, to admire just how gorgeous everything about him was. 

Crosby, though, Crosby looks up at him with these eyes like cocoa and smears his lips along the side of Jordan’s dick and Jordan wants to tilt his chin up towards the ceiling and gasp out a groan, but all he can do is watch and watch and watch until he stops thinking about Taylor. 

+

Taylor Hall and Crosby are not and will never be the same person. They’re nowhere near it, but somehow, when Jordan spends enough time wrapped in Crosby, his thoughts trickle back to Edmonton, back to a life he lived what feels like a million universes ago. 

If Jordan squints, maybe he could find some hint of familiarity between them. Between the sheets, when Crosby’s breaths are warm as they fan out across his neck, when he writhes underneath Jordan, when his nails scratch down his back. 

It isn’t Taylor. Crosby will never be Taylor, he can’t forget that.

+

The third time they fuck, Jordan breathes out the words, “Sid,” and “yeah, yeah, just like that,” all in this slew of desperation. He calls him Sid, over and over, calls him Sid until his lips are buzzing against his and he can’t form anything else with his tongue. 

So, yeah, he knows when this started, but he doesn’t know how it got so bad.

\+ 

Sid turns over in the middle of the night, wrapped up in the white sheets, and Jordan can’t stop thinking about the way he’d dragged himself to Jordan’s door. How he’d been wearing something exhausted over his face, and he begged Jordan to kiss him until the air in his lungs didn’t come out the same.

Jordan traced a nail over the pinched red skin of his lips.

Sid had dropped his jaw, sucked the finger into his mouth, and Jordan took him apart.

He’s waiting, waiting for Sid’s eyes to blink open to chirp Jordan, waiting for a scoff, or a shove, or scornful words when Sid suddenly remembers they don’t just — fall asleep in each other’s beds. 

But that moment never comes. And Jordan lulls himself to sleep to the sounds of Sid’s easy breaths.

In and out. In and out. 

+

It’s a four game sweep.

The Penguins don’t get swept. They are not the type of team to give into weakness quite that easily.

But Jordan played the game, he scored his goals, racked up enough points to silently pride himself and completed the sweep. 

Four games and the Penguins are bested. 

Four games and they’re headed to the second round. 

Jordan’s elated, he’s on top of the entire world, he feels fantastic, light — everything is perfect.

He doesn’t glance at the Penguins bench, because he knows he won’t be able to bear it.

+

For two days after the sweep, Jordan goes without texting both Taylor and Sid.

Those two days go by incredible quickly, because soon enough, _hey_ , he texts Sid.

And he slides into the string of messages between him and Taylor, glances over the _nice goal tnite_ , and responds with _thnks_

Sid takes a minute to answer back. _yeah??_ he sends, which is. A little insulting that he assumes immediately Jordan is only texting him because he wants something. 

Still.

He doesn’t feel guilty when he says, _come to long island_

He does, however, feel bad that Sid’s at his door just hours later. 

Jordan doesn’t think about Taylor for a long time after that.

+

It should be embarrassing, how he’s strung up on Sidney Crosby of all people. How Sid is how he copes, Sid is the one that soothes his wounds and pulls him in and in and in. Again and again. 

It’s selfish, to do that to him. He knows.

So, Jordan stops picturing Taylor when Sid’s in his lap, when Sid’s breathing heavy into his ear, when Sid sinks to his knees and looks up at Jordan with a quiet smile. 

And it feels even worse.

+

“Fuck you,” Sid says, when Jordan — frustrated and tired — tells him Sid’s only fucking around with him because he’s clingy after the sweep. Because he’s looking for something to validate him. Because the Pittsburgh Penguins organization is a goddamn public embarrassment and he _should_ feel bad and.

He doesn’t know where it comes from. 

He doesn’t know what it means when he wants to see someone else hurt like he’s been. When he wants to break someone just to build them up again. 

He thinks he might hate Sid. He thinks he might know exactly where it stems from.

+

They fuck. That’s all it is. It is not anything gentle, not this delicate display of love, it’s Sid on his hands and knees with his face pushed into a pillow, it’s Jordan’s hands tight around his wrists, it’s them moving in these frustrated spurts.

For as long as it’s been going on, as long as Sid has spent the nights at Jordan’s place, it’s only fucking. 

And then Jordan kisses him, quiet and sweet, five seconds before he thinks he’s gone for the night and the press of Sid’s lips is the last thing burnt into his skull before he falls asleep. 

\+ 

This, what they have, is not allowed to be anything more than sex. 

Jordan wouldn’t forgive himself if he let it get that far. If he lost grip of something that terribly, if everything he thought he had under control suddenly tumbled from his fingers. 

He doesn’t think about Taylor, which is something he hasn’t been able to say for months. 

He does, early in the morning, type out _hey, can u call me?_ into the text box of their string of messages. 

For a minute, he thinks about sending it. He should. He has to. They need to work this out because Jordan can’t handle the way his heart thrums Taylor’s name in his ears, how it won’t let up.

Sid stirs next to him. 

His fingers brush Jordan’s waist before sticking there. 

Jordan exhales.

He doesn’t hit send.

\+ 

Jordan never truly fell out of love. 

Sometimes, he wakes up and forgets he isn’t still in Edmonton. Forgets that the lump in the sheets next to him isn’t Taylor. Forgets things that should be etched into his head by now.

There are also moments where he feels his chest swell when he looks at Sid, moments he isn’t used to feeling, moments where he is not being hurt, where he is not hurting, either. And he doesn’t know how to handle that.

You don’t know just how blind you’ve been until the things you haven’t been seeing are revealed to you.

Jordan has always been the type to fall in love with his eyes closed anyways.


End file.
